


Love Frustrations

by OneLetteredWonder



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cliche, Multi, so fucking cliche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7799860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneLetteredWonder/pseuds/OneLetteredWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, seeing all the nations so oblivious to their feelings, hiding them, ignoring them, whatever the case, it had been tear jerkingly amusing for him to see. He chuckled to himself, sat back and smirked watching as they all floundered around themselves, trying to be nice and natural. It had been laughable, the way no one else seemed to notice the feelings being spread throughout the room. His enjoyment of the situation soon turned to confusion. The feelings stayed unknown. Francis became more and more engrossed in watching a particular couple every meeting, seeing why. Why isn't the love blossoming? Why isn't the love spreading? Why?</p><p>Now the whole ordeal is downright frustrating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Frustrations

Francis 'tsks' for the umpteenth time this meeting. He can't help the pout that crosses his face, resting his chin in his hand. He's not glaring per se, but staring intently at the soft blush on dear little Italy's face as he tries his hardest to make Germany relax. It has the opposite effect, making the uptight country tighten his grip on his papers and his patience. Francis sighs and lazily moves his eyes around the room. It's another meeting that he's not even sure _why_ they are holding. What's the point? Barely anything gets done, and he knows this is just a way to distract them while the bosses do actual work.

Sure, the nations are helpful when it comes to people issues and figuring out how the population will react when a new law is implemented or a new alliance is made. They are their people after all. They feel what the people feel, they are their anger, their will to keep going, their life. A nation can't live without their people. They are just a collective of everyone that calls themselves patriotic. Francis sighs.

Even though he knows the rules, even though he knows it's against the unwritten law that the nations are ageless and they are not allowed to fall in love, he can't help it. He sees it everywhere. Love has always been his speciality. Even amongst the terrors of the world, the nations still feel. It's the biggest taboo to fall in love with a human. Their lives end and it just leaves a horrible scar. He learned that lesson the hard way, but so did the others.

At first, he thought it _hilarious._ He saw the way Italy, dear little North Italy, would gaze longingly at Germany. The daft potato eating man would never see the hugs as more than friendly. It then made the Frenchman down right confused when Germany would turn and watch North Italy with a soft smile when the Italian had his back turned. How could they miss the obvious hints the other dropped? He couldn't be the only one to see the way the two looked at each other? Impossible. And yet..

He sighs again, watching as his good friend Spain tries yet again to get a smile out of South Italy. The amount of pinning the Spaniard has done for the spitfire Italian is ridiculous. A few years after the Italies became independent and they finally showed up for a meeting as a new nation, Francis could see the hearts in Spain's eyes. Never before had he seen that look. Of course he smiled and played nice when married to Austria, but nothing compared to the downright smitten expression he wore when South Italy gave him the time of day.

At first, seeing all the nations so oblivious to their feelings, hiding them, ignoring them, whatever the case, it had been tear jerkingly amusing for him to see. He chuckled to himself, sat back and smirked watching as they all floundered around themselves, trying to be nice and natural. It had been laughable, the way no one else seemed to notice the feelings being spread throughout the room. His enjoyment of the situation soon turned to confusion. The feelings stayed unknown. Francis became more and more engrossed in watching a particular couple every meeting, seeing _why._ Why isn't the love blossoming? Why isn't the love spreading? Why?

Now the whole ordeal is downright _frustrating_.

He huffs, leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He's never seen so much lack of wanting to share feelings. He rubs at his face. He knows why too, it doesn't matter how many times he questions it. He knows exactly why no one confesses, why no one bothers to try and figure out their feelings and see what could become. They are scared. Rightfully so. Falling in love leaves room for 'weakness' in the most primitive sense of not wanting to show emotion. Liking someone, worse loving, leaves room for attack on that person fully rendering the nation in love in a state of disorder. It hurts to have someone you love ripped away. It's cruel.

It's unspoken that they do not fall in love. They are eternal. Human love won't last, and they are nothing but made of their people. Maybe their love won't last either. The heartache of loving for so long only to have it end would be catastrophically unbearable. Oh but it would be so much better to try and see what could become of love over letting it fester and grow without ever knowing. What's point of having a human side if they do not get to experience those simple emotions that are a blessing and a curse to them? It's all they have. It's a crime to not let them have this one simple pleasure. How wonderful it would be, to spend forever with someone you love.

"Quit daydreaming and pay attention," Francis blinks wide eyed suddenly at the hissed command. A sly smirk crosses his face as he directs his attention to the nation next to him. England is sitting up straight, his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he makes a quick note on the project they are supposed to be working on together. That's boring compared to the feathers he's about to ruffle.

"Oh but I am daydreaming about you mon cher," He coos right back. England bristles, now glaring at the paper in front of him. He sends a quick dirty look the Frenchman's way, turning his attention right back to his notes. Francis smirks at his companion, then it slips from his face. He's left staring at England with a blank expression. _Coward._ He berates himself. For all the annoyance at the nations not confessing their crushes he is by far the worst perpetrator. He's known for years of his feelings for the British bastard. No matter what, he always had this lingering thought in the back of his mind. Even when England burnt food, or butchered the French language with his haughty tongue, even when he dared call him a frog. No matter the insult, Francis could not stop the traitorous thought of _I love him_.

Of course he had been frightfully surprised when it first happened. He brushed it off to nothing. A simple exposure of too much sun, he's sick, didn't get enough sleep. Whatever he could come up with to stop himself from full on admitting it. That plan lasted not very long. He remembers when he truly accepted his fate. England just finished his part in a speech years ago. He sat down, gave Francis a confused look for staring at him with shock on his face. Nothing happened. Nothing big or exciting or terrible. Just England talked, and Francis could hear his heart pounding out clear as day _I love him_.

He got drunk that night. He thought himself stupid. That much hasn't changed. Now his degrading thoughts are more towards the lack of confession. He wants to tell England so badly, but the fear of rejection? It's consuming. He would die of England telling him that his crush is stupid and unreturned. He would get over it, after a few years of course, but it'd still hurt.

"Please stop staring at me," England turns his wild green eyes to glare at Francis. The order snaps Francis back to the reality that he was surely staring at England with a dumb look on his face. He smirks, throwing a wink at the Briton. England grits his teeth and rolls his eyes, exasperated about the situation. Francis keeps his smirk as he goes back to leaning his arm on the table. His eyes catch all the hinted feelings and the subtle remarks. Others not so subtle.

He chuckles at Prussia's blatant attempt to be the center of attention yet again. He knows the country is trying to get the attention of someone, but he has yet to figure out who. It's been his task for the last meeting or two. The albino had begun showing up to meetings only a few years ago, his loud behavior increasing as time went. Francis knows his friend has a reason for putting the spotlight on himself, but he wants to know who could have possibly captured the arrogant nation's simple affections.

He raises an eyebrow when he catches Prussia continuously glancing a certain way, nothing like the sporadic looking about the room some nations are prone to do when talking. He follows the albino's gaze down the meeting table. There are a few sitting over there that could have entertained the Prussian long enough for him to have feelings, but who? Certainly not Miss Hungary, as lovely as she is, and though the two had been friends when younger, she is completely smitten with someone else. Francis narrows his eyes, trying his hardest to pick out just who. Who could it be?

Prussia makes a snide comment to Russia when the scarved nation comments on his annoyance. A few laughs are heard and Prussia immediately throws a smirk the opposite way. Francis has his eyes glued down the length of the table. Miss Hungary sure isn't laughing, more like rolling her eyes at the antics. Mr Austria next to her is just huffing. There's a blonde nation, hiding his face in a bear, with obvious hints of a smile on his face. Francis sits back smugly, having figured out his answer. Though, he will have to have a talk with Prussia about hurting his darling Canada. Papa is very protective.

He flips open to the back page of a spare notebook, writing down Canada opposite to Prussia. Ever since he first noticed the sparse glances and hidden smiles, he's kept a list. It makes matchmaking easier on his part for sure. There are arrows, directing which way the feelings flow, two arrows when the feelings are mutual. Francis casually watches Canada for a little while longer, the small smiles and the hidden laughters when Prussia says something a little ridiculous. He draws two arrows in his book.

"France what do you have to say about the topic?" He snaps his head up, blinking at Germany. The tall blonde nation is looking at him expectantly. He sighs when Francis smiles at him.

"Désolé, but I was not paying attention," Francis admits plainly. He sees no reason to lie. A few people laugh, some groan. Germany sighs again, tired with having to run the meeting once again since no one else stepped up. He flops back into his seat and calls a ten minute break if only to collect his own sanity. Francis hops up from his seat to track down his former colony. He can't stop the wicked smirk on his face when he links his arm through Canada's dragging him away from Prussia who stares at him with a baffled expression.

"Mon petit fils, Matthieu darling," Francis coos while he drags his son down the hallway. Canada giggles and smiles down at him politely.

"Oui Papa?" He says quietly, as in his nature unless comfortable. Francis pulls him to the side and away from the other nations.

"I have noticed something very odd," He says simply, going for innocence, though true he has not been able to pull off innocence for a long time. Canada scrunches up his eyebrows, holding his polar bear just a little tighter. Francis gives him a sly smile.

"I can't help but see the way a certain.. Prussian looks at you," Francis's sly smile morphs into full on entertained at the shock on his son's face as he hides it behind his bear's head. It's silent between them. Francis places both his hands on his son's shoulders. He pauses momentarily. When did his son get so tall? He's so proud of the nation Canada has become. Much better than the other one.

"S'il vous plait, mon petit fils, do not let this pass," Francis smiles softly at his son. He wants nothing but happiness for his former colony. For all that has happened in his comparatively shorter life, he deserves nothing but the best. Canada gives him a scared, but hopefully look. He smiles, more to himself, then nods. Francis pulls him into a hug. They walk back to the meeting room. Most of the nations are still gone, some are lingering in their seats or talking to the others. Francis makes his way back to his seat where England is still sitting.

He watches with rapt attention as his son makes his way to the loud nation. When Prussia notices him, nearly instantly, he throws an arm around Canada's shoulder, a bright smile on his face. Canada turns his head, cupping a hand around his mouth to whisper in his ear. Prussia's face goes from confused to shocked and blushing in two seconds flat. He pulls back and stares at Canada, opening and closing his mouth like a startled fish. Canada giggles and walks away back to his seat. Francis pouts. That doesn't last long as Prussia lets out a loud whoop, chasing after Canada, lifting him up in his arms and spinning him in circles. Francis opens his notebook and sketches a heart over the two arrows between them.

"What in the world..?" Francis smirks over at England, looking between a mix of disgust and bewilderment at Prussia bouncing in his spot with Canada in his arms. Francis leans back, casually placing his arm on the back of his companion's chair. England gives him dirty look but makes no move to remove Francis from his space. They watch as the other nations give them odd looks. Neither Prussia or Canada notice them. Francis is pleased when the two switch around seats to sit next to each other. They're holding hands underneath the table. America throws a fit and Germany is just a little completely confused, but the meeting continues on.

"What did you do you cheeky sod?" England growls at him under his breath. Francis snickers and removes his arm, leaning forward, and pushing his little notebook of l'amour over so the other can see. England scans the page, he scoffs at what he sees.

"You're ridiculous," He says quietly. Francis smiles down at his work. If only he could get the other's to see too. He glances over at England twirling his pen between his fingers. Francis picks up his own pen and writes down 'England' on his list with an arrow pointing to an empty space next to it. It may hurt to know who his beloved likes, but he's sure they better treat him right or so help he will resurrect Napoleon to wreck havoc on them.

He does his best to pay attention for the last of the meeting. It's getting harder to do so. He can't stop smiling like a sentimental father and fool at his son's happiness. Canada is not one to hold back, and neither is Prussia. He's also trying his best to not focus on all the potential happiness floating about the rooms. It's so infuriating, especially when so many have their feeling requited. It's sad really, to not let oneself indulge in pleasure.

He rolls his eyes and watches, pathetically, as Germany does his best to keep himself from sputtering when he catches sight of Italy watching him talk like he puts the stars in the sky. It's almost sickening how sappy it is. Francis glances around the room to see if anyone notices. Some do, he can see South Italy fuming, but that may be because Spain is looking at him the exact same way. He turns his gaze to Canada, who is smirking now, pointing to Germany, and whispering to Prussia. The albino's eyes go wide and he has to hide his face to stop from laughing aloud. Francis on the other hand, can't honestly stand it anymore.

"Mon dieu for love's sake," He says, hiding his face in his hands. The entirety of the room looks at him. Francis sighs and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms like a scolding parent. He narrows his eyes at Germany.

"Do you _really_ not get it?" He asks incredulously. Germany flickers his gaze from Francis to his snickering older brother and back again. Francis throws his hands up in the air with a sigh.

"Can you truly not see the way he's looking at you?" Francis presses on. Germany's eyes go wide, as well as Italy's. It's funny to Francis, that the first person Germany looks to is Italy, while the bubbly Italian is trying to figure out who else would be looking at Germany. Francis smacks himself in the face, dragging his hand down his face.

"Do any of you see it?" He asks, moving his gaze from nation to nation, finding nothing but confused looks and uncertain whispers. Francis stands.

"It has come to my attention that none of you are proficient enough in the ways of amour to understand," He says his words with a smirk as they are drowned out by the nations calling him names and denying his words of love. He pulls his notebook closer. He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off.

"France now is not-"

"Oh but dear Allemagne, it is the perfect time, for I have seen so many of you tiptoeing around each other it is utterly insane," Francis interrupts the German's word. He does not have the patience any longer to sit and watch his fellow countries be unhappy. He clears his throat and settles his look on Germany and Northern Italy once more.

"Mon cher Italie," he says softly. The small nations perks up at his name. He smiles brightly at Francis, aloof to the tension around the situation.

"What do you think of Allemagne?" Francis asks simply. North Italy blinks, baffled by the question. A sparkling smile graces his features.

"He's strong and sweet though he tries to hide it under all his muscle and he makes me food and lets me cook him pasta and he hugs me tight and lets me sleep with him when it's scary at night," North Italy giggles to himself, oblivious to the blush crossing Germany's face with every passing compliment. He sends a tired look at Prussia biting his knuckle to keep quiet.

"Allemagne please do not tell me you missed the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about you?" Francis says softly. This makes the room grows quiet. They look between the two countries in question. Italy is smiling bashfully now, fiddling with his fingers as Germany looks at him with pure confusion. Francis sits down. All the countries are looking between each other, unsure of how to respond to the situation that has arisen around them.

"I," North Italy starts. He laughs lightly before continuing. "I love Ludwig," He laughs again, wiping away a tiny tear that escapes. He smiles at Germany now, full of affection. Francis swears he can hear the jaws dropping. He scoffs. How none of them saw that coming is _beyond_ him. The first one to react to the confession is South Italy.

"What the fuck?!" He screams out, jumping from his seat. His brother laughs, standing to help calm him down. North Italy hugs him, laughing and crying into his shoulder, telling him it's alright. Germany is sitting dumbfounded in his seat, openly gaping at the confession. The two Italies are talking in hushed tones. South Italy gets a fired up look on his face, turning a sharp glare to the offending country.

"Yo potatopriss. You never answered my brother." He barks out. The room fully focuses on Germany now. He jolts at the sudden call to attention. He covers his mouth with a hand, his blush still fully seen. His reaction bothers South Italy most. He puffs up and barks out again.

"Well do you love him too?" He's impatient. North Italy stops in his fussing to send a hopeful look Germany's way. Francis leans back in his chair. There really is no other answer besides the obvious. Germany nods his head slowly at first, then his action picks up. Here is where Prussia lets his laugh go.

"You've been loving on that little Italian so long I thought your brain turned to pasta!" He cackles out, throwing his head back. That earns a few snickers from the other countries, easing the tension of the room. North Italy is making himself very comfy in Germany's lap, hugging him tightly and whispering sweet words to him in his ear that make Germany blush. It's one of the best thing's Francis feels he's ever done.

"Yo Francey!" Francis sends a smirk over to his friend. Prussia is grinning like the devil with his feet kicked up on the table.

"What else you got?" He asks, running his tongue over his teeth. The nations tense up. Francis lets out a low chuckle.

"My dear Prusse it highly inappropriate to do what I just did, I will not make it a habit." Francis says to him teasingly. Prussia rolls his eyes, snuggling closer into Canada's side.

"I am curious," Francis smiles gently at Russia. The winter nation has his arms on the table, resting his chin in his hands. His smile is sweet, for now. Francis isn't scared of Russia, he's scared for everyone else. He's seen the nation snapped a few hundred times and it's never a fun experience to witness.

"I think it would be fun to know everyone's secrets," He giggles, his violet eyes sparkling with mischief. Francis sighs once more, hoping it will be the last for the day. As fun as it would be to tell everyone to shut up and kiss, he simply can not expose people like that. It would be rude and frightfully unfair.

"Shall we start with yours?" Francis says simply to Russia. Instantly a chill fills the room. Russia is digging his nails into the side of his face with his smile no longer sweet. Francis shakes his head and stands up to collect his things. There will be no more production for the rest of the day and he's not about to wait for it to officially end. What's the point?

"Au revoir~" he sings and exits the meeting room. He can't keep the smirk off his face. There are bound to be conversations about this for the next few meetings at least. Hopefully, maybe, by then someone else would have gained the courage to speak about their feelings. He pushes down his sadness at knowing it won't be him. He smiles fondly at the text he receives from Canada; a big thank you and plenty of hearts in a line. He kisses the phone but doesn't respond.

"France!" He pauses at the call of his name. He peeks over his shoulder, shock etching it's way onto his face at seeing England quickly walking towards him. He blinks at the huffy British man. England crosses his arms, an annoyed look on his face.

"You can't just leave a meeting like that," England scolds him. Francis chuckles at that.

"Mon ami you have done the same," He takes a step closer to the glowering Brit. He allows himself to watch his love flounder in aggravation. At times like this, it becomes clear to him that they are in fact the same height. As much as that annoys him. He had always been the taller one. When did England get this tall?

"I came out to get you back into the meeting you git. The entire meeting is dashed talking about how you know everything. It's a horrendous mess and all your fault," England lectures him. His eyes are narrowed in that parental scolding manner. Francis just smiles. Part of him wishes, as he follows the fuming nation back to the main room, that he could just take England by the hand and take him out to lunch or something. Anything is better than those meetings. He enters the meeting room, once more, and heads to his seat. Ignoring the way everyone is staring at him. He hums quietly and takes out his things again.

Almost in a trance, the meeting starts back up again, completely ignoring what happened. Francis huffs and leans back, tapping his pen to his notebook. It is so like his fellow countries, to be chatty and inconsolable and yet when they have the chance to know, they hush up. It feel oh so childish. He smiles gently at the smitten look on North Italy's face as he holds Germany's hand under the table, as well as the embarrassed I'm-trying-hard-to-concentrate-and-you're-making-it-really-difficult look the German is sporting. Truly, the two are too cute. He flips open his notebook to the last page to see his reminders.

"How did you learn all this?" Francis hums in response to quiet question England asked. He smirks over at his neighbor. England raises an eyebrow and subtly moves his chair closer to get a better look at the scribbles. Francis complies, scooting closer on his own and pushing his book over to share. He watches as England glances at the words, then up to the nations in question, moving his pen down on the list to keep himself in place. He grimaces at some of the feelings supposedly expresses throughout the room.

"I pay attention," He whispers back. England scoffs and rolls his eyes. He glares at the book then points to Russia's name on the page. Francis hums again with a cheshire cat worthy smirk on his face. He leans back casually and so does England.

"He has that fake sweet smile on his face when he looks at everyone, except _that_ one." He keeps his voice low. The others near them are paying attention to the meeting. England narrows his eyes at the scarved country. Russia is smiling simply at Lithuania next to him. The poor trembling nation is trying his hardest to smile back. Francis shakes his head.

"Watch when he looks at Amérique though," He whispers to England. Almost on que, Russia turns his gaze to the loud American, talking over everyone about how they should all listen to his idea, because it is by far the best, because he is the hero. England inhales sharply and Francis feels an odd sense of pride at getting him to notice what he's been watching for years. Russia's smile isn't as fake, it's softer, not as forced as America complains.

"And America feels the same?" England questions skeptically, tapping his pen to America's name written next to Russia's with two arrows between them.

"Amérique is very outgoing, but when Russie speaks, he gets stars in his eyes." The two wait. It doesn't take long for Russia to comment on America's plan. The star spangled nation bounces in his spot, talking more excitedly about his idea. England scowls.

"Oh Angleterre, do not worry about the boy," he coos. England turns his scowl to him. He huffs and crosses his arms indignantly. Francis leans forward and waits for Russia to look his way. He simply smiles when the winter nation regards him with a blank face. Francis glances at America, then back. Russia raises an eyebrow. Francis does it again. This time Russia lazily drags his eyes over to the loud nation. He finishes talking and plops down in his seat. His sunshine smile falters when he sees Russia staring at him. They both turn away sharply. Russia returns to giving Francis an unamused expression. Francis looks away to Norway talking.

He leans back in his seat and waits. America is biting his lip and glaring at his lap. Canada is peeking around Prussia to see him. The brothers banter for a quick second. America huffs and exits the room with a puff of his cheeks. Francis holds on to England's arm when he feels the nation tense next to him. He shakes his head when England glares at him. Russia stands and excuses himself politely. No one questions the actions that just transpired. Francis smirks.

"If he hurts America I'll end you," England threatens. His words hold no meaning and Francis isn't afraid. After the cold war, the two nations involved have been on good terms. He hopes now that they will be on better terms. The two come back in together with smiles on their faces. Only a few nations give them odd looks, nothing to be worried about. Russia is practically humming aloud in his new found good mood, it's scaring the Baltics just a little.

He spends the rest of the meeting catching nation's eyes and vaguely hinting at their feelings. Some blush and hide their face while others shrug in acceptance. It's always England who decides who comes next, pointing to the two names and waiting for Francis to work his magic. It becomes more and more apparent as nations randomly exit the room that a pair will come back in. Japan jolts in his seat, his face turning a marvelous shade of red and exits the room hiding his face. Francis watches the nation leave, then snaps his eyes to the suddenly wide awake Grecian near him. Greece almost falls out his chair trying to stand. He yawns and walks out of the room with his hands in his pockets.

It's quite obvious when South Italy storms out and Spain doesn't waste a second chasing after him what is going to happen. It's annoying really, seeing how many countries did not see any of this coming. The tension has been building for years upon years. It's been on the verge of breaking for so long. Spain and South Italy do not return. Francis raises an eyebrow at the door, wondering if his friend will return. He sits up straight when a pen hits him in the head. He rubs at the spot, sending a half hearted glare at Prussia. The nation smirks, winks at him, and somehow slips out of the room unnoticed with Canada right behind him. He's honestly just impressed Prussia managed to be quite enough to pull that off.

Sensing his brother's disappearance, America panics, scanning the room for his often unseen sibling. Only when Russia stands and leaves the room, grazing his fingertips across his shoulder does America get the hint. He smiles brightly and follows after the taller nation without a second thought or second glance at the incredulous expressions on the other nation's faces. Francis smiles to himself what a wonderful day it is turning out to be.

The meeting takes a drastic turn with most of it's main speakers exiting. The topics turn from serious to possibly the most uneventful and most unnoteworthy of ideas. It's a subtle clue to them all, to leave. How they leave is Francis's doing. Nordic nation after Asian nation and so on, the room becomes empty. When it's just a few of them left, the meeting is dead ended. They meet up with each other and exit the room waving goodbye to Francis still in his seat with England right next to him. The Brit is looking through his matchmaking notes.

"If only you paid this much attention to the actual meeting," He grumbles. Francis chuckles. He leans back and stretches his back, casually placing an arm on the back of England's chair.

"Think of it this way, now they can stop making longing goo-goo eyes at each other and work together to get things done," He smirks. The nations could now pay more attention to the meeting since they will be getting the attention they need outside of the room. However, now that they are all paying attention, it might be more hectic. He hadn't thought of that. He closes his eyes and hums lowly. A very productive day indeed, at least for love it is.

"Why is my name on here?" He smiles at that roughly asked question. He keep his eyes closed as he answers.

"Because I would like for you to be happy too," Francis replies. It's quiet between them. He peeks his eyes open when England sighs and stands. He gathers his things with a pout on his face. Francis stands as well to gather his belongings. England leaves without him. Pausing in the doorway, he turns around halfway to stare at Francis.

"Git," is all he says. He swivels on his heel and exits the building. Francis covers his face with a hand and laughs. Curse him for falling for such an insufferable gentleman. He picks up his notebook. He drew more hearts around the nations who have recognized each other's feelings. He smiles to himself and is about to put the spiral bound paper into his bag when something catches his attention. His eyes widen and he doesn't bother picking up his stuff and runs outside.

"Angleterre!" He yells across the parking lot. England stops and faces him, a bored expression on his face. Francis walks closer to him, noticing how his hands are shaking, noting how England's hands are also shaking though he tries to hide it by crossing his arms over his chest. He stills just in front of the brit. He smiles softly at the unamused expression on the nation's face.

"What?" Is all England says, like he hasn't done a thing. Francis's smile widens. It's so like England to do so.

"Mon amour, I will pick you up at eight oui?" He says smugly. England rolls his eyes and turns away from him.

"Piss off Francis," He barks at him. Francis watches with a satisfied smile on his face as the other nation slides into his car and away from the meeting room. He slowly walks back inside, a bounce in his step. He finishes collecting his things but not before drawing an arrow and a simple heart. He can't stop running his fingers over the cursive of his name, written in England's hand just across from his own.


End file.
